Fifty-five is not an insubstantial age but not as old as I hope to be one day – assuming I will remain in fine fettle of course. This year’s birthday celebrations extended to before and beyond the day itself and I bring you now the marvellous and varied shenanigans that have led to this Bank Holiday weekend.

On the 16thof April BB and I took a rare week away together; much as we love our family and friends, being bereft of their company for the first time in two years was rather lovely. Watching our pennies right now, this break heralded our first Package ‘Oliday at a grown-up resort in Gran Canaria. The Idyll Suites were perfect and yes, pretty idyllic too.

Our beautiful apartment overlooked a huge infinity pool around which state of the art recliners reclined, nestled against substantial umbrellas. A button on each brolly allowed one to call the pool-boy who would order and deliver refreshments on one’s behalf. A child-free zone, peace abounded with exemplary staff on hand … and a beautiful setting. Interspersing dinner out with our own self-created delectations of local food, a splendid week and good rest were much enjoyed. All this, flights and car … for £100 a day each. Can’t knock it. Let’s hear it for the Package ‘Oliday, our first – and certainly not our last.

I returned to full-throttle work and the pre-birthday week sped by; Thursday featured a night at the Chelsea Arts Club in a rare but successful mixing-business-with-pleasure session, followed by Friday at home to prepare for The Bash. I concocted myriad fresh, small plates and a large Forte Mess (a dish to which I will return later).

The jolly partygoing group comprised most of my Beta Boys including Brilliant Chef, Picture Editor, Fantastic Photographer and Silver Fox. Other guests were made up of FirstBorn’s friends and ours: Master Musician, Mystery Russian, Dazzling Lady Architect, two Fine Filmmakers (one male, one female), one Surrogate Daughter and two Surrogate Sons, Brilliant Young Lawyer and Literary Events Guru. It made for an eclectic and kind evening with candid conversation, cross-generational bonding and so much more.

At some stage, the younger guests invited The People Next Door, accompanied them home again (with the rum) only to return before too long in livelier spirits than before. Having attempted to contain everyone downstairs, a group dispersed up to the dining room where debate raged on all manner of topics … adding intellect to the general jolly melee. Our last guest departed at 3am giving way to brave clearing up, which in turn at 4:30am, gave way to a desire for bed. Blissful sleep descended … but not for long; BB and I were woken abruptly by a US number calling very early; summarily rejected, it called again and again …

As Sunday dawned far brighter than us, tidying up was completed with the help of FirstBorn and Mystery Russian. MR was taken to the Columbia Road flower market after which he strolled our Brick Lane environs and returned impressed. In preference to leaving for the UK’s more northern climes, he dallied in the kitchen to strike up an intense discussion about capitalism, the meaning of profit to the greater good and where in the world he might find more adventure and interesting people as he had found with us. A complement indeed.

Sunday Night Film Night (usually taken in bed, laptop-on-tummy) was cancelled as BB and I settled into an early slumber. Monday arrived only too soon; post-birthday work was as onerous as pre, and the evenings socially busier than our exhausted selves would have liked.

Tuesday brought to dinner a wonderful journalist friend of some 20 years. Here more lively intellect abounded than I was perhaps prepared for, covering politics, education, business and buildings. Of course, buildings. Debate subsided however with the arrival of my newly-concocted birthday pudding:

Wednesday required a serious overhaul of self, for tonight was the Maserati Reception for its Top 100 Entrepreneurs 2018, a list for which I had unknowingly been nominated and accepted. Happy days. The event took place on the 17thfloor of News International’s headquarters at London Bridge; BB and I mixed and mingled with bright people, met Mr Maserati (Europe), the Business Editor of The Sunday Times and more people of influence who will doubtless come in handy at some time or another. After possibly too much champagne and an interview, BB led me from the building to a not unreasonable but very sensible early night.

A busy Thursday-at-the-coalface dispersed into hot bath and bed with slow Friday bringing dinner with dear friends South of the River (for those who know not London, this is a whole different world to London North of the River and for Northern Folk, can be quite scary.) We arrived safely however; parents were met and chatted with before leaving for another engagement, beautiful nine-month-old baby was cooed at before being taken a-bed and delicious dinner served. Home by midnight we rather felt we had escaped lightly given the party-going history of these new parents. Clearly the novel role of Mum and Dad took its toll and we Oldies sank thankfully between the sheets at a Godly hour.

The grand finale to my two-week Birthday Bash was this Bank Holiday Saturday night at the Arcadia Spectacular, an extraordinary festival set within the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park just two Central Line stops from our home.

We were lucky enough to find ourselves in the Backstage Bar where we encountered not only far thinner crowds but The Rogues, a band of boys I had not seen for far, far too long. The Promoter (who facilitated our attendance) and The Invisible Impresario (founder and host of London’s best ever, now demised, illegal drinking club) were accompanied by Crazy Universe Child (about to turn 60) and myriad familiar and less familiar faces with whom conversation was broad and very jolly.

At around 10pm with wine and beer in hand, we converged in the main arena to witness the extraordinary goings on; a gigantic spider made from miscellaneous mechanical and non-mechanical parts, beaming rainbow lasers across the crowd, breathing fire and flames into the sky, extracting unsuspecting guests from the ground … and doubling as a stage for bands of whom – unlike everyone else present – I had never heard.

Unfamiliarity with the script and score didn’t get in the way of much jumping around, singing and conjoining in embraces with Rogues and BB; a fine time was had. As the event drew to a close, our group meandered into the street discussing the various afterparty locations and which one to attend.

Yet BB and I did something we have never done before; without a word, we exchanged glances and quietly peeled off to find a cab and be delivered safely home, far, far from the madding crowd.

Lying awake briefly, my thoughts meandered and I began to think the unthinkable … might, just might we be growing up? Hmm … I don’t think so. There’s plenty of time for that, after all.

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About fortewinks

A secretary at 19 and self employed at 26, Giovanna has become a British healthcare entrepreneur. She is also a bon vivant and mother of two clever and accomplished daughters. Youngest-of-All is a talented Patisserie Chef living and working in Melbourne Australia (if you are there, visit All Are Welcome in Northcote). FirstBorn is a, adventuresse, published author and documentary journalist who lives wherever her mood or investigations require. Happily she is currently in the UK.